


Promised

by imperfectkreis



Series: Amanda [3]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courier Amanda is having a minor freak out before using the rebreather. Veronica helps ease some tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promised

Veronica says the Boomers like her, everyone likes her, and presses her sticky-glossed lips to the top of Amanda's head. She slides her hand into the back pocket of Amanda's jeans as they walk across the tarmac. It keeps their hips close, side by side. 

Coming up on October and it's not really so hot anymore. Makes Amanda think that the world is recovering. Maybe that's a pipe dream, though, that flowers will start blooming in thick fields across the desert. So many soft, pastel petals she'll just choke. Nevada was never like that. Even before the fallout. But she saw a picture book of the prairie once, depicting some place to the east. She left the book behind in the bungalow where she found it because six boxes of instamash were more important than a book of endless prairie grass.

Amanda can't feel the heat of the ground through the soles of her shoes like she could in July. So, yeah, it’s an improvement.

Pearl catches them on their walk, tells Amanda she oughta get some rest. Tomorrow they'll head to Lake Mead. Amanda is gonna swim it with the rebreather. Attach the ballasts to the bomber. She's the strongest swimmer of the lot. The others don't really know how. At all. Swimming doesn't come up, really, on the base. Or in a hole in the ground. Amanda tugs on the ends of her braids and says "alright."

Pearl also tells her they got a trailer for her and Veronica all set up. It's not fancy, but it should do. Amanda thinks about how fancy her life has gotten since she last died. Maybe it’s even nicer on the other side.

Dinner ended an hour ago. Children run across the base before bedtime, playing ball games and hopscotch in the cool wash of electric lights. Amanda hasn't seen so many healthy babies since her Tribe. She's seen a few hollow-faced youths in the Wastes. Some even smile. But not these fat-cheeked children who can scream and play without fear after dark. She wants to bundle them up in her arms, hold them against her and cry. Because she can’t promise that they’re safe.

Amanda wants to weep for all the babies she was supposed to protect back home. But couldn't. Didn't. 

She's sorry. She's so so sorry. She's killed Caesar but it won't bring them back, their chubby hands and wails. She sees the children who should-have-been reflected back in the eyes of the little Boomers.

Veronica doesn't tell her to snap out of it, pay attention, on target. Instead she kisses her, sweet. They had cake with dinner. Veronica had three pieces. It doesn't cling to her hips like it does to Amanda's. Veronica is still long and lean as ever.

When their lips come apart Veronica's look all puffy and wet. Makes Amanda want to dive right back in until they're practically swollen.

"You don't have to do this, you know." Veronica plays with the coarse tuft of hair at the end of Amanda's left braid. "We can do this without the Boomers."

“They want to help. This will let them help.” Amanda pushes open the door to the trailer.

The space is sparsely decorated. A bed, some pillows, a couch. She opens the fridge out of habit, assessing how much they have in terms of supplies. Pearl, or someone, has stocked the fridge with fresh fruit, bottled water, and bread. Amanda closes the door without taking anything. They just ate.

Veronica takes down her hood, ruffling one hand through her own hair so it fluffs back up. Like she does on other nights, she steps forward to remove the brightly-colored ties from Amanda’s braids. Today they’re pink. Starting from the bottom, she works the dark hair loose, it comes apart in Veronica’s hands. It’s comforting, really, to have someone care for her. To touch her and want to be touched. 

Once Veronica is done, she leans over to kiss the corner of Amanda’s mouth, waiting for her to tie up her hair in a fluffy ponytail. Amanda’s hair spreads around the back of her head like a halo. That’s what they call her, Angel of the Wastes. They, this unidentifiable mass of ‘they,’ shove aside her shortcomings. Hell, they shove aside that she’s short and sort of pudgy. People always comment she’s shorter than they thought she’d be. People forget a lot of things they don’t want to remember.

Veronica kisses her again, this time less chaste. It still takes Amanda by surprise, that Veronica wants her. 

She grips the front of Veronica’s robes, the fabric wetting in her sweaty palms. She comes up on her tiptoes to reach. 

“You just looked so sad,” Veronica says.

“No, not sad.” Amanda used up all her sad long ago.

Veronica is well intent on getting Amanda out of her jeans. Amanda pulls off her own top and ratty bra. They can never find the right ones for her. Veronica’s always got one that doesn’t look second-hand, like it came from a department store and not the Wastes. Amanda doesn’t know how she manages.

Well, she sort of does. She knows about the underground-people. The lucky ones shoved in vaults like pickled fish, for opening later. Some of them came out rotten. Some of them came out beautiful. Veronica says she’s not one of them. That the Brotherhood and vaulties are different sorts. Amanda doesn’t think it much matters because they both get untouched things for their own possession. 

“Touch yourself, Six, wanna watch you.” Veronica’s breath is hot against her face as they tumble into their borrowed bed. 

Veronica knows her name. Knows she’s A-MAN-DA. Her parents called her that. But she knows she’s Six too. A number on a slip that changed her whole world. 

It’s embarrassing really, that she’s still trying to learn her body. That she’s twenty-something (twenty-three? maybe? that sounds about right) and doesn’t know right away where she should touch, or how hard, for how long. But she slips off her underwear, kicking it off her feet, and slides her fingers to her slit.

Veronica wraps one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Their nipples rub against each other’s breasts. Veronica’s are a perfect shade of brown, sort of light, like, damn, Amanda doesn’t even know. Just she wants to put them in her mouth and suck. But Veronica told her to touch herself. 

She catches her clit between two fingers, rolling it back and forth. She likes the way her hood pulls over more sensitive flesh. 

“You’re so good, so pretty, let me touch you too?” Veronica sounds all breathless. Her nipples hard against Amanda.

Amanda nods, spreading her thighs a little so Veronica can slip her hand between them. But first, she puts her longer fingers on either side of Amanda’s. She doesn’t change the rhythm, just follows Amanda’s lead, feeling out how she pleasures herself. 

Only after she’s committed the pattern to memory does Veronica’s hand dip lower, sliding one finger into her. She’s soaked, really really wet, anticipating Veronica’s pressure inside of her, enjoying the pace she’s set for them both. She bucks her hips to Veronica’s touch. It doesn’t take more than the one finger, a little urging. Really, it’s what she does to herself. 

Veronica swallows up her sighs, buries them in her own chest, lets them sit against her lungs for later.

If the rebreather fails tomorrow, Amanda’s lungs will fill with water. They’ll burn up like flames. Tissue-paper frail. She’ll drown and it’ll be for nothing.

Why the fuck did she agree to a contraption made from super glue and a pressure cooker? Fuck.

“Hey, hey.” Veronica wipes her hand against the sheets. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Amanda lies. 

Sort of. She’s content and warm against Veronica. There’s a lot of good she’s done. But she can hear one of the children outside scream when he falls in his play. The children will go to bed soon. And it makes her so happy she feels all of the guilty stones she was forced to swallow before. They cracked her teeth on the way down. When she was only Amanda and not yet Six.


End file.
